The Last of the Line
by Skiaria
Summary: The three Winchesters sat in the tomb, around the stone table. Yellow Eyes was destroyed. But there was still the curse. AU where John is still alive, Sam didn’t die, and Dean never sold his soul. One shot.


Summary: The three Winchesters sat in the tomb, around the stone table. Yellow Eyes was destroyed. But there was still the curse. AU where John is still alive, Sam didn't die, and Dean never sold his soul. One shot.

A/N: This isn't my typical fare but—and I feel silly for saying it—a dream inspired this. I had to write it. Not the typical punch I like to give to my stories, but still dark. LOL. Like most my stuff. I hope you enjoy it, all the same.

**The Last of the Line**

They'd gotten it wrong. Well not them, but the mythology. That really wasn't a surprise. Most myths had only a kernel of truth to them anyhow.

The three Winchesters sat in the tomb, around the stone table. It was over. It had taken twenty plus years, but it was over. Yellow Eyes was destroyed. That was even better than sending him back to Hell, in John's opinion. Yellow Eyes had tried to twist and enlist John's youngest and failed. Certainly he'd managed to open the doorway to Hell, if only briefly, to bring forth the army of demons. But they'd beaten Yellow Eyes. They'd even _killed_ him.

John's gaze slid to the newly-filled niche. The ashes of Yellow Eyes' human body were held in the golden urn, the urn placed in the dark hole.

Pride glowed in his eyes as John looked at his two boys. From what he'd learned, they'd never been so close to ending the curse as they were now.

"Just the three of us left," John murmured. He looked around the tomb at all the urns, all the souls condemned to Hell. He knew there were uncountable other urns in the old country.

"We could wait awhile yet," Dean suggested.

John gave him a sad but fatherly smile. "No. We're too close."

"It's not fair!" Sam snapped. "You didn't know about the curse when you married Mom!" The rebellion that had always caused Father and Son to butt heads blazed in Sam's eyes.

Yellow Eyes had told him about it and it took John a long time to accept the curse was real, a long time and a lot of research to prove it to himself. Demons were manipulative sons of bitches and consummate liars. He hadn't wanted it to be real. God, how he wished it wasn't. The icing on the cake was the night Yellow Eyes dragged him to this damned tomb, proving once and for all that the curse was real. It made him hate Yellow Eyes all that much more.

"Mary didn't know about the curse, either, Sam. You know that. _It_ finds a way to continue the curse. _It_ may have found a way with the two of you." John looked pointedly at Dean.

"I've tried to be careful, Dad," Dean said uncomfortably. "I don't think I screwed up."

"Let's hope not. I just wish you'd been more like Sam," John said with a sigh.

"It's not like he was a virgin when he met Jessica," Dean growled. "And besides, he was going to marry her, have a family."

Sam gave Dean a smug smile. "Yeah, but we were going to adopt. " Sam tried to deny the pang of loss he still felt when he thought of Jessica. And he wasn't going to marry her. He didn't want to pass the curse on to her. But they had intended to be together.

"And I got a vasectomy when I was twenty!" Dean protested.

"If it took," John pointed out. "After all, Mary wasn't supposed to be able to have children."

John pushed himself to his feet. "It doesn't matter at this point. We can only hope it's just the three of us left." He turned and went to the unmarked tomb. He spoke the words and drew the symbols on the wall as Yellow Eyes had showed him. It made him feel dirty just doing it.

The stones shifted with a groan as they revealed the dark red jar, gems glittering dully under cobwebs and dust. John pulled it free of the tomb's maw and set it in the middle of the table, the pottery making a muffled _chink!_ as it touched the stone.

So much horror it had brought. John wasn't sure what was worse. The condemnation to Hell for all the family line, or the terrible things its contents had brought upon innocents.

The family was silent, staring at its adorned baked clay. Ancient runes incised into its surface millennia ago were barely decipherable under all the dust and dirt.

"I can't do this to you boys. It's got to be me," John said suddenly, reaching for the jar.

Sam grabbed the jar and pulled it close to him. "No! We already had this argument. You agreed. Right, Dean?" Sam looked at Dean, almost afraid his brother would take their dad's side. A part of Sam, a little tiny part, wanted Dean to. Sam would do it. He'd _wanted_ it to be him, but neither Dean nor John would agree. Each of them had put forth arguments of why it should be them and not the others. They'd finally all agreed it would be a lottery of some sort that would do the choosing. There was simply no other way.

Dean nodded. "Dad, you promised us." Dean's green eyes pleaded with his father not to push the issue.

John raked his hand through his hair. "It's not right," he murmured.

"Now or later," Sam said, "it doesn't matter."

John stared at his two grown boys. With a sigh, he gave a curt nod.

Sam placed the jar back in the center of the table, watching his father warily.

"So what, rock-paper-scissors?" Dean finally asked, staring at the jar. It raised the hair on the back of his neck, like that cold winter night of the new moon filled with the keen of the banshee's cry. That damned spirit had nearly killed them all.

"Dude, you suck at that. You always lose," Sam said. "No, it's got to be fair. Equal chance for us all."

"Cards," John said. "We'll do cards." John pulled out an old deck of cards and shuffled them, then handed them to Sam. Sam paused before reaching for them, almost as if he was afraid they'd electrocute him. Taking them slowly, he shuffled them for a minute, then handed them to Dean. After following suit, Dean set them hesitantly in front of his father.

Dean looked at the two people who meant the most to him in the world. God, he didn't want to do this. He didn't want to put his family at risk. Like his father, he felt it should be him. Dad was the most seasoned hunter and Sam, well, Sam was his little brother. Dean was the logical choice.

"Can't we wait, even another week or two?" Dean begged. Maybe he could slip in. He'd contemplated it, hell, he'd tried, but his father had stopped him.

"Dean, it's been a year. A year to the day," John said patiently.

"But there are still so many demons Yellow Eyes let out! It's still an army!" Dean said, desperate for a reason to wait, desperate for a way to save his family, even if just for a little while longer.

"We've done what we could. We've waited as long as we could. That's part of the curse, too. A year to the day."

Dean exhaled, all the protest leaving him. He knew his father was right. It sucked, but he knew his father was right. "So what? High card?" he asked miserably.

John nodded. "Aces being high." John dealt Sam, then Dean, then himself, one card randomly from the deck. He didn't want this for his boys, but he knew the consequences. They'd all three be struck with memory loss, innocent of the knowledge of the curse and more children would be born. That couldn't be allowed to happen. Not again. Not until only one remained and the curse was broken. At least this time they knew. At least they were all well trained and didn't have to stumble around in the dark, searching for footing with a new world view that shook the very core of their being.

He prayed it would be him, yet he knew there would still be one more time to sit at this table. If they lost, God, if they lost, the whole family line and all the damned souls would be left to burn in the depths of Hell. No. That couldn't happen. They simply had to win.

"Okay," John said huskily, hoping it would be him and not one of his boys. John turned over his card. Jack of hearts. His heart skipped a beat. There was a good chance, a damned good chance.

Sam flipped his card over and the air rushed from his lungs. Six of spades. It wouldn't be him. At least not this time. He looked at his father and brother and was suddenly guilty for his relief.

Both looked at Dean. Dean rubbed his thumb absently over the back of the card. This was it. Him or his Dad. Dean took solace that Sam hadn't drawn high. He was spared for the moment.

Taking a deep breath, Dean revealed the card his father had dealt him.

"Ace of spades." Dean laughed softly. "Always lucky in cards, wasn't I?" He looked up to see the sorrow in his family's eyes. "Hey, it's okay," he said. "It's…okay. Had to be one of us, right?"

"Dean…" Sam started to say, his voice filled with all the agony his soul felt. Not his big brother. He didn't want it to be Dean. More than anything, he didn't want it to be Dean.

Giving him a smirk Dean said, "No chick-flick moments, Dude. Not now." Dean looked at his father, seeing the same agony in John's eyes, but his father stayed silent. Dean knew they loved him. They knew he loved them. What more was there to be said?

Dean drew upon his courage. It was almost midnight. Their father was right. This was the next step toward ending the curse. It had to be done. Dean stood and pulled the jar a little closer to him. He took a final look at his family then turned back to the jar.

"Dean—" Sam began, reaching his hand out.

"We agreed, Sammy. Fate would choose. It chose me."

Shutting his eyes briefly, Sam let his hand fall back to his side. He felt the tears begin to slide down his cheeks. Not his big brother. But it was. It was going to be Dean. He wiped angrily at his tears. No chick-flick moments.

"I am the chosen," Dean whispered to the jar, his hands on either side of the lid. The gems glowed eerily as the runes turned bright gold. Dean felt the tingle, the evil inside the jar. With a final deep breath, he opened it. The black smoke rushed free of the jar and shoved its way inside of him.

What had once been Dean lifted his head, white milky eyes staring at the Winchesters, Dean's same smirk on his face. Dean was still in there and his family knew it. The demon set the lid properly back on the jar. "I get a month, like the curse says. You can't hunt me, I can't hunt you." The demon laughed. "And if you think Uncle Jeremy and Yellow Eyes were a bitch, just wait until you see what I've got planned for Dean and I."

"Dean" turned and left the tomb, his laughter fading into the night. John looked at Sam. The time would come when "White Eyes" would be dead, and he and Sam would once again sit at the table across from one another. The final demon—God, he hoped—would be freed from the jar. The final Winchester would become possessed. The last Winchester would hunt the last demon. If the demon won, all the family line would serve in Hell for eternity. If the last of the line won, all the family would be free. So was the deal. So was the _real_ curse laid on the family of Pandora by the pagan god.


End file.
